The hallway was dark, and you stepped forward anyway. Every few steps was a door with a number on it, every few steps a faint light above. A friend told you not to go, that you are too vanilla, and maybe you should start slow. But the chats with that man drove your imaginations wild.
“I like, sumbisive men, on the floor next to me, on their hurting knees, with a tear on their cheeks”.
You wanted to experience it. You needed to experience it.
Smells of cigarettes, beer, cheap colons, and sweat filled your nose. What’s the room number? You could barely see the doors.
“You don’t know that man. You only talked to him twice at this trashy bar. That address he gave you, it's weird,” said your worrying friend, “don't go.”
But you went.
“I’ll be gentle my boy,” the man said and caressed your thigh, “after all, I’ll be wanting you coming back for more”.
You could go back. You could make up an excuse. Your heart was racing, but you moved forward. No coming back now.
You found the room and knocked on the door. Your dick was hard, thinking about what’s waiting for you on the other side.
The door opened. The room was dark as well, with faint lights. The man stood there, shirtless. A belt was wrapped around his palm as he held a thick adult diaper.
“You came,” he said.
You nodded, with a raging boner between your legs.
“One chance to get in, one chance to turn around”.
Looking at the belt and the diaper, looking at him. You were not going back, not now. You walked in.
As you were walking passed him, he whispered into your ear, “Good boy”, which made your jeans tighter.
